


The Hell Walker's Angel

by His_Royal_Gothness



Category: Doom (Video Games), Highschool DxD (Anime)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 13:22:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14593908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/His_Royal_Gothness/pseuds/His_Royal_Gothness
Summary: She had watched when he fell to his misery and treachery, with sorrow she guided him when he plunged himself into Hell where he would become legend, she gave him power when his own failed him, with heartache she cried for him when he lost himself to bloodlust and hatred, his name she remembered when all others forgot, while Hell cursed and scorned him she gazed at him with love. AU





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Prologue  
This is a crossover of DOOM and Highschool DxD, I do not own either DOOM or Highschool DxD all rights go to id Software, Bethesda Softworks and Ichiei Ishibumi.

The events in my story take place in an Combined Universe of DOOM (2016) and Highschool DxD some things will diverge from canon and it will manly be set in DOOM's Hell and the Underworld from Highschool DxD.

I am using the Doom Slayer's testament and the lore surrounding it to build this story and basically fleshing out said Testament into a actually story that merges with the background lore from Highschool DxD i.e. the Great War.

There will be no UAC.

This will be a mainly Doom Slayer and Gabriel centric story.

This is just a prologue and I have received permission from Gunkatas to use an aspect of his story in my own.  
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Prologue:

The Legend of the Doom Slayer

''In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment. In his ravenous hatred he found no peace; and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him. He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him... the Doom Slayer''

''Tempered by the fires of Hell, his iron will remained steadfast through the passage that preys upon the weak. For he alone was the Hell Walker, the Unchained Predator, who sought retribution in all quarters, dark and light, fire and ice, in the beginning and the end, and he hunted the slaves of Doom with barbarous cruelty; for he passed through the divide as none but the Three Great Powers had before.''

''And in his conquest against the blackened souls of the doomed, his prowess was shown. In his crusade, the Seraphim bestowed upon him terrible power and speed, and with his might he crushed the obsidian pillars of the Blood Temples. He set forth without pity upon the beasts of the nine circles. Unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding, the Doom Slayer sought to end the dominion of the dark realm.''

''No aid came from the Devils of the upper layers, for Lucifer fought against his own ruin, besieged and befell by Angel light and dark as the Great War continued like searing fire upon desiccated flesh, alone we stood against the last Human of Argent D'Nur and alone we felt the righteous bloodlust he extrude.''

''The age of his reckoning was uncounted. The scribes carved his name deep in the tablets of Hell across aeons, and each battle etched terror in the hearts of the demons. They knew he would come, as he always had, as he always will, to feast on the blood of the wicked. For he alone could draw strength from his fallen foes, and ever his power grew, swift and unrelenting.''

''None could stand before the horde but the Doom Slayer. Despair spread before him like a plague, striking fear into the shadow-dwellers, driving them to deeper and darker pits. But from the depths of the abyss rose The Great One, a champion mightier than all who had come before. The Titan, of immeasurable power and ferocity. He strode upon the plain and faced the Doom Slayer, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains. The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at the Doom Slayer's hand, but there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the shadow horde were routed.''

''And in his terrible rancor between worlds and through time, the Hell Walker found the wretch who shall not be named, but in his heresy was loyal to his evil cause. The wretch adorned the Doom Slayer in a mighty armour, wrought in the forges of Hell, impenetrable and unyielding. With sword and shield of adamantine strength, the Doom Slayer set to banishing all that were left unbroken by his savagery to the void.''

''In his shadow the Seraph would lurk as it had throughout the Great War and even when Devil kin fought amongst themselves for power, the Seraph always the same, watching and guiding but never revealing itself to the Doom Slayer, it's foul presence gave pause to many of Hell's champions, even the Dark Lords remained wary whenever it arrived at the thirteenth layer throughout the ages, though it never remained long, but with each arrival it brought new terrors, bearing terrible gifts for the Hell Walker to wield, the Angel left trails for him to find them, weapons from new ages and those born of Heaven.''

''Yet as the mighty Titan fell and dread engulfed the armies of Doom, the demon priests of the Blood Temples laid a trap to capture this scourge of Hell. Insatiable, even by the vanquishing of the Great One, the Hell Walker sought prey in the tombs of the Blood Keep. And blinded by his fervor, the lure drew him in. The priests brought down the temple upon the Doom Slayer, and in his defeat entombed him in the cursed sarcophagus. The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, hidden in silent suffering.''

''For centuries after the entombment of the Hell Walker, the Seraph of Heaven stubborn in it's wretched loyalty to the Doom Slayer still ventured to the 13th Layer, searching; uncaring of the peril that stood against it, it scoured the Umbral Plains and Catacombs of the Damned with ever growing desperation and despair for the crypt in which the Human lay, and with every passage, every temple and every ruin She seeked and every Demon that fell to her blade the closer and closer the slave of Heaven came to reaching the hidden crypt in where the cursed sarcophagus lay, but one day as suddenly as the Angel had came she vanished from the realm of Hell and never returned.''

Relegated to myth in the modern age of Devils and even by many of the other realms, the tale of the Doom Slayer no more than a story from a millennia before the Civil War, an age where the Great War still raged and the Old Devils and Demons still reigned, but still does the image of the Hell Walker haunt the thoughts and dreams of the denizens of the Underworld, his story told from the mouth of parent to the ears of the terrified child, many taking comfort in the pretence that he exists only in the stories they tell.

But.

The horrifying truth is known only to two within all the supernatural realms, one being the current Lucifer of the Four Great Satans; Sirzechs Gremory, the secret passed down from Lucifer to Lucifer, ancient tomes acquired from the sealed 13th layer of Hell; the Old Demon's realm, excavated from the forbidden realm within the Blood Temples of the Kadingir Sanctum.

The other, well; the other being knows the tale better than any other could, she could recount his tale better than any tome could tell, for she had walked with him since the beginning, from a time when he bore not the moniker ''Doom Slayer'' and the many others he earned throughout his crusade against the Dark Lords that wronged him, hidden from him but always guiding as he set forth on his blood drenched path.

She had watched when he fell to his misery for his treachery, she felt his anguish at the loss of his son, with sorrow and pity she guided and watched over him when he plunged himself into Hell where he would become legend, with admiration she gazed at him as he overcome all that Hell befell him, she gave him power when his own failed him, with heartache she cried for him when he lost himself to bloodlust and hatred, his name she remembered when all others forgot, while Hell cursed and scorned him she gazed at him with love.

Gabriel, Seraph of Heaven, she came to care for him; from sorrow and pity, to admiration and love.

She kept him secret from her Father and Siblings, and silently grieved when he was lost to her.

And this;

This is how it all began.  
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End of Prologue

Please Follow, Favourite and Review if you're interested and want more.

First Chapter coming soon.

Next Chapter: The Beginning: The Fall of Argent D'Nur, Birth of the Doom Slayer and Sorrow of a Seraph.


	2. Hatred's Birth, Seraph's Sorrow: Unus

The Beginning: Hatred's Birth and a Seraph's Sorrow: Unus

The First Age (10,000 BCE)

Realm of Hell,  
Thirteenth and Final Level,  
Ruins of Argent D'Nur,  
Destroyed City of Argent,

Crimson tears ran down the face of cold steel as they were at the mercy of gravity, they left stains upon the metallic surface in their wake, following others that came before them, the stains; a metallic red that struggled to shine under the harsh dark light they were currently subject to, the tears of crimson continued on unchallenged and unhindered until they eventually came to a pointed edge of metal; the proverbial cliff in which gravity battled against steel for claim of the ruby drops that hung from it's tip, it was a futile effort for the ore as eventually the ruby drops slipped from it's grasp; like many of their kin had done so but moments earlier and as many would continue to until a time came that the cold steel was bereft of it's crimson or gravity's greed was quenched.

Splash

The crimson tears rejoined their kin within a pool of red; halo'd in a haze of orange that suggested the presence of nearby fire, sat in a small crevasse between broken cobblestone the red pool's form moved, a ripple announced their arrival as did their kin before them causing the crimson liquid to shake with the undulation the ripples birthed, when the surface calmed once more an image; a reflection of the cold steel which once held them could be seen within the red waters.

A Longsword's blade.

The D'Nur blade, the demon's bane and blade of the holy order of the Night Sentinels, a blade imbued with the tremendous energies of the Elemental Wraiths, it's edge was riddled with red streaks of blood that practically flowed off it's form such was it's quantity, held in a death grip by it's wielder it sat both eerily and menacingly still, but poised like the execution blade of a guillotine, only the flowing of blood from it's edge and the flashes of dark light from the hell storms above that lit up the cold metal offered any visible movement.

It's wielder stared down at it with a stoic gaze, a single cold brown eye followed the drops of blood with dispassion as they weeped from it's edge to the gore filled floor. Garbed in the Crusadic armour of the Night Sentinels it's wielder stood unmoving, much like the blade the Knight's white armour was tainted, a collage of red gore and scarred metal as blood trickled over every plating to then gather at his armoured feet and trickle between cobblestone blocks akin to streams through valleys, the tattered remains of a red cape rested upon his left shoulder, what once lay proud upon his person signifying his place within the hierarchy of Argent D'Nur as the Crown of the Night Sentinels now seemingly burnt with scorches of black and specks of ash representing his betrayal and the dishonour he incurred.

Around him lay the mutilated bodies of demon-kin, predominantly Imps and the possessed forms of his own people while a single Barron lay with the fallen neverborn, all seeping in crimson. The corpses; a proverbial manifestation of a timeline of emotion, for the bodies that lay furthest away from the Knight were cleanly cut, bisected and decapitated with a blades precision showing a clear and calm mind in the heat of battle, but that could not be said for the closest corpses; especially the Barron itself, flesh was ripped and torn, bone broken, wounds that's purpose was pain not death, anger and hatred made manifest and inflicted upon flesh and bone as wounds born not of blade but tearing hands and crushing feet made themselves known.

He had long forgone his helm in the obvious battle that took place just moments prior, in consequence a mane of black hair that could rival the darkest shadows of Hell flowed serenely in the sulphuric ember filled winds of the Underworld, reaching his mid-back in length the black locks were set in a contradictory state, both dry and wet with a maroon coating as blood clung to strands of onyx, though the blood was not his own, his pale face, an epitome of masculinity while stoic held an aura of traumatic shock and denial rather than aloof arrogance of a victor in battle, his only visible brown eye; as the other was hidden under strands of unkempt hair, was set in a wide painful stare locked upon his blood stricken blade.

With shuddering movements the Knight cast his gaze to his surroundings, shown by the quivering movements of his single visible eye as the rest of his body remained in a state of stagnation.

Pandemonium welcomed his gaze, surrounding him the once beautiful white angelic city of Argent stood, crumbling under it's own foundations as hellfire hunted the defenceless wood that supported white stone, and heat in turn blistered stone resulting in fissures birthing upon it's face, too weakened, too besieged the white stone towers fell and gave themselves to the hungry maws of hellfire and choking smoke. The multitude of fauna that once lined the streets and rooftops with their vibrant green and colourful flowers of blue were no more, smoke had choked the life from them and fire left them blackened, barren and broken, stricken with cracks filled with mosaic orange and red embers.

The once cool halcyon blue skies of the Earthly realm that breathed life and light vanished to be replaced with the baleful veil of dark suffocating yellow and orange sulphur clouds of Hell, cackling with a madness of demonic rumbles of thunder and great arcs of fire stricken lightning that lashed out at the destroyed city, igniting the crippled towers in a display of snarling fire, molten rock and burning wood that exploded outwards to then assault the cobblestone streets and ruined structures around them.

The large courtyard in which he stood was in ruins, a long wide broken cobblestone path stretched before him, riddled with the debris of the three white stone archways that once stood tall overhead, the green vines with their blue flowers that once wrapped themselves around them decoratively now lay scorched, blackened and crushed under fallen stone. On each side of the broken path, fields of grass; now little more than dead and smouldering earth, a white stone statue of a Night Sentinel grasping a blade in both hands sat at the centre of both, one streaked in arcs of blood while being cut cleanly from shoulder to hip, the other completely destroyed, it's debris surrounding the burnt grass around it's plinth.

Finally at the very end of the path sat the smouldering ruins of the once great Keep of the Night Sentinels, in truth more of a gigantic fortress-palace than a austere Keep such was it's stature and grandeur, but now nothing more than a hollow fire stricken husk, it's roof caved, supporting walls and guard towers crumbled while their banners burnt.

His fallen brothers lay dismembered across the Keep's wide curved steps, some slain with their own blades, their blood trickling down step after step like accursed waterfalls, he knew more lay inside, crushed and buried or burnt to ash to be claimed by Hell's devouring winds, their names and faces, family and friends he knew them all.

Brothers, He had lost the right to call them such, just as he had lost the right to mourn as his city, his people, his home burned around him, he was the catalyst to it's undoing, the traitor that touched palms with demon ilk, the betrayer that led them through the gate unseen, the blasphemer of a desecrated oath that allowed a cruse to fall upon the sleeping Wraiths; but also the weeping father that lost himself when his son's blood touched earth.

Azri'el.

A fitting name for one such as he, it left a bitter taste upon his tongue at how his fellow Sentinels, friends and subordinates alike, even his own blood would cheer and make merry as they guessed at it's significance to their Crown, Azri'el, Angel of Death as written in the tomes of Heaven, they believed he was anathema to the devils and demons, their bane, their reaper, never realising the Angel of Death would 'strike' at them in grief with their backs turned no less, and why would they, he was their Crown, their Champion, inspiration and leader against the dark forces during the Great War that still rages, even Heaven took note of his prowess as a key piece in the war with him at the helm of the Heaven sworn Night Sentinels.

But so did Hell.

Guilt, anguish and regret finally overcame his shock and denial as his body broke free of the paralyzation that held it in vice.

In an act of withering strength he brought his bloodied shield baring hand up to grip the soaked locks of black that draped themselves over his hidden eye, brushing it back with slow, almost shaking movements and in turn revealing it to the hell around him.

Blood was first to be revealed, glistening with the fire around it as it trailed down his cheek in crimson rivers. His eye much like his other was set wide and stricken with pain, but the presence of a long seeping jagged cut running from forehead to cheekbone made it seem all the more profound.

His hand faltered.

The clang of metal hitting stone reverberated throughout the area as Azri'el let his fingers slip from the grip of the heavy blade they cradled, he followed soon after, his knees crashed against the blood soaked cobble causing his body to jolt lifelessly with it's impact as his legs gave to fatigue both physical and mental coupled by grief, it bound him to the ground and constricted him like the pull of a sinners Hell-Iron chains, he didn't resist, he couldn't, the sharp jolts of grief made sure of that, no blade's blazing stab or demons tearing claws could compare to the anguish he felt.

With only one option left available to him now he clenched his teeth, a painful expression marred his face shown by the creasing of his eyebrows and closing of his eyes, and with a final intake of breath.

He roared with a anguish ridden scream to the mocking skies of Hell.

''AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!''

His cry seemingly drowned out the thunder above, all the pain he felt, the regret, the grief that was now branded upon his very soul he made them manifest through his voice, echoing against the broken stone of the burning city it seemingly reached every street, every crevasse, every home, alerting those that lumbered and scurried within them to his presence.

In time his cry gave way, his throat too hoarse to continue even though he still wished to cry out more in a futile effort to rid himself or at the very least lessen the maelstrom of emotion that raged within him. Arching his torso down he allowed his hand to lay flat against the bloodied cobble floor, the blood clung to his armoured hand, it was cold now that much he could tell through the hard fabric of his covered palms, but he couldn't tell if it was his own, that of his brothers or that of the vile demon-kin, not one drop belonged to a single being anymore, they all merged together to form a concoction of aqueous crimson, he knew somewhere out there his son's blood lay, all that remained of his Human self.

His son; he had held his lifeless body with hope as he willing walked to his betrayal but a short few hours ago, and now with despair he knew all that remained of his son was his blood and the sound of his agonising scream that echo'd still within Azri'el's head.

Tears left his eyes, the clear drops turned red as they ran over the stains of dry and fresh blood upon his face. A choked sob accompanied them, escaping through his clenched teeth.  
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Timeskip: 2 hours ago

The First Age (10,000 BCE)

Realm of Earth,  
Kingdom of Argent D'Nur,  
Holy City of Argent,  
Night Sentinels Keep,  
Inner Sanctum,

The harsh clangorous sound of rushed steps against the black reflective marble floor echoed throughout the long cathedral like hall of the Inner Sanctum of the Keep, reverberating against the tall white walls, decorative columns that stood in front and the white statues of the previous Crowns of the Night Sentinels that stood between them to the high Terran Lancet arched ceiling. Light streamed into the cavernous hallway from the tall narrow windows that sat upon the upper walls of the hallway, in turn allowing the intricate patterns of gold that decorated the ceiling and column's plinths to shine with luminescence, though the light was not pure but stained with colours, colours of red, golden-yellow, green and blue of the artistry that was birthed from the stained glass, each window an archive of Argent D'Nur's history, depicting the arrival of the Wraiths, the treaty with Heaven, birth of the Night Sentinels order and the Great War that still raged.

The flames upon the torches that lay fixed in the vice of their golden holders upon the lower columns flickered and danced as the owners of the rushed steps passed by, same could be said for the long gold and blue tapestries against the walls that hung from ceiling to floor between windows.

The owners of said steps were fourteen in total, fifteenth if you included the figure that lay limply within another's arms.

Azri'el strode down the hallway with rushed, impatient and almost panicked movements, his Heaven born armour was clean and unmarred by battle including his glowing blue visored helm that currently obscured his face. The cape that would normally cover his entire left side billowed behind him in a flame of rich red, this in turn allowed the golden hilt and black leather wrapped grip of his longsword within a black leather sheath at his left hip to be seen as it swayed with every long stride he took.

With seemingly paranoid movements his head would turn slightly left and right when new corridors at his sides would enter his field of vision, though he did not stop or slow his strides, after a single glance to see that the corridors were indeed vacant he would just turn his head once more to face the seemingly unending hallway to his front.

His paranoia was well founded.

Behind him thirteen cloaked figures strode with him but with much less elegance, their presence seemed to suffocate the light around them, they were foreign, unnatural and grotesque. They stood a head taller than him, their hooded robes, a dirty blood red in colour, their hands were locked together in front of them, hidden under their wide sleeves, the robes gave no clues to the forms of the beings they covered as they completely obscured any telling shape with their long curtains of blood red, so long were the robes that they dragged along the marble floor behind them a good foot in length and their wraith-like hood offered no glimpse to the constant snarl their faces wore as they continued onward. Their strides betrayed the robes purpose in anonymity, they 'walked' in cruel stomps, the slight lifting of the back of their robes suggested the presence of digitigrade legs which gave further evidence of a beastial nature.

One of the cloaked figures seemingly lead the others, in a act of clear hierarchy he strode in front of his brethren close behind Azri'el, so close in fact that it made his battle instincts burn almost painfully as his presence felt dark, an anathema to his own; just like the rest of 'it's' kin, but it's posture was indistinguishable from that of it's kin.

But an evident difference to it's fellow cloaked brethren was painfully clear, it's robe held more; aesthetics, if such a word could apply to their demonic nature, a collection of menacing bloodied iron chains wrapped around his waist, each link of chain holding a malicious spike. Around it's neck hung a talisman of bone that clearly held some form of religious or occultist significance, collected together upon a decrepit line of brown 'string' though Azri'el knew it was skin, the bones; a collection of teeth, fingers and vertebra while a small skull held position at it's centre, acting as a medallion so to speak, imprinted upon the skulls forehead with an orange energy akin to fire, a pentagram lay, around it's circle demonic scripture made itself known.

Unlike the others it's hood didn't cover the entirety of it's 'face', not that it mattered for sorcery most foul kept it's face hidden, all that could be seen under the arch of it's red hood was a flowing darkness, like restless shadows acting akin to smoke with listless movements, though it would not venture beyond the rim of the robe's shade as the very light of the Sanctum seemed to cauterize what licks of shadow that slipped from the eerie shade.

Only two characteristics remained visible behind the shroud, the demonic green glow of beastial eyes shone through the moving darkness of the shroud, their gaze locked upon the armoured back of Azri'el, a malicious and sadistic intent only kept repressed by the intelligence of the mind that controlled them, though they still out of untrust remained fixed upon the Night Sentinel in front, especially since it was he that held the Crown of the Order, the eyes flicked down to the being in Azri'el's arms and with a sickening glee they knew with twisted irony that no betrayal from the betrayer would befell them. Azri'el could feel them leaving a burning sensation upon his skin, passing through his amour with ease, his hand itched for the blade at his hip but the body in his arms reminded him why they were here and that even with the burning gaze upon his back no piercing claw would meet his unguarded form.

The final feature to complete the abhorrent nature of it's appearance, at the bottom sides of the hood the tips of curved dirt stained horns; a sickly fading yellow and the maroon of dried blood, poked through the black shroud, confirming what other characteristics hinted, that this was no Man or Necromancer born of Earth, nor the Fallen of Heaven, but a beast lurked beneath, Heaven's bane and Devil's kin; Earth's foe, a being that has earned the odium of Humanity.

A Demon.

Deag Grav and his Cabal of Hell Priests from the Blood Temples of the Kadingir Sanctum; it was he that set these current events into motion, it was he that came to the grief stricken Night Sentinel with an offering that seemed too sweet to be spoke from a Demon's lips, his twisted words that played upon the broken father's mind with their promise; a bargain that's terms were betrayal.

Soon Azri'el and his cortège reached their intended destination shown by the slowing of their steps as they came to a gradual halt, the sound of their final steps echoed throughout the vacant passage, in turn making Azri'el's fear of discovery rise, but as the echoing sound of foot falls faded and no response of rushing armoured feet and barked orders met their calls Azri'el allowed himself to calm and focus on what now blocked his path.

In front a set of giant black marble doors stood unmoving, intimidating and judging, wide enough to allow a trio of Mancubi to stand at each others sides within it's frame, and standing at height that would allow one such as the Dragon King Tannin to walk through unhindered, such was it's enormity. Engraved upon their face in marble of the purest white that it could rival Heaven in it's purity; a dyad of Night Sentinels with a blade clutched in both hands, they seemingly guarded the room beyond the doors they were engraved upon and even though they were just an artistic manifestation of his fellow brothers, Azri'el felt their judging stares filled with disapproval and disgust, they asked why would he and how could he, but he offered no answer other than the shifting of the white sheet covered body he cradled in his arms ever so carefully. The black face of the marble was engraved with a multitude of golden vine like patterns that seemed to glisten with an unnatural light and seemingly act in reverence to the Knights upon the doors with their artistry, but they didn't dare allow themselves to touch them out of risk of reprimand.

Now deep within the Night Sentinels' Keep, the very heart of the City of Argent, he stood before the doors of the Divinitatem Aethereum Thalamum; the Divinity Chamber, resting place of the Elemental Wraiths and source of Argent D'Nur's and the Night Sentinel's power.

But before he could raise an arm to push the giant black ornate doors apart, the sound of the clattering of bone against bone gave him pause, the sound no doubt from the tailsman worn by the demon behind him, accompanied by harsh foot falls as the demon; Deag Grav, strode past him with cruel stomps that caused him to tense as the helms of his foul robe brushed against his pure armour, he clutched the body within his arms tighter and closer to his person out of instinct to the threat, but the demon paid him no heed as it chose to stand between him and the chamber's doors.

Deag Grav gazed at the doors maliciously but an aura of triumph surrounded him, behind his shroud a cruel snarl filled with sadist pleasure taunted the Knights engraved upon the doors' face. Soon he moved, with slow and lumbering movements Deag raised his arms to bring them to contact with the doors themselves, his wide sleeved robes drew back by his actions, the red cloth like blood upon deformed flesh moved listlessly to eventually reveal the menacing clawed hand of the demon's form, his hands; large and powerful enough to crush a Human's skull with ease, riddled in dirt and scars while his claws were coated in dry blood, formed in a mould of deformed muscle and balefully yellow hide like skin.

Soon the demonic palms found purchase upon the doors' face and upon contact the doors seemed to burn and cauterize the demon's flesh seemingly in an act of defence, or perhaps just because of the very nature between the two opposites, one Heaven sworn, the other in Darkness clad, this shown by the single trails of steam that escaped between the demon's callus fingers, Deag showed no visible reaction to the meagre and almost petulant resistance he was met with, with clawing motions he dug his claws into the door itself causing black marble and gold carving to cave and be bisected as it crumbled to the floor by his unrelenting and merciless claws.

And with a bow of his cowled head and a great heave of unbridled strength from his gargantuan arms the Neverborn began to pry apart the final aegis that stood between him and his ascension to higher demonhood.

The rumble of stone scrapping against stone and the almost painful cry of buckling iron hinges followed as the giant doors of aureate covered marble gave way and cowed to the being before it as they began to slowly separate from one another to open inwards and reveal the chamber beyond it's guard.

Answering to it's suffering calls as an awaited signal, two of the twelve lumbering robed figures that had silently stood behind Azri'el with postures akin to statuesque wraiths suddenly strode past him with synchronised movements, their intent clear in their actions as they moved to take purchase at their leader's respective sides, insulting and uncaring of how intrusive they became of the Knight's personal space as they stomped by allowing their decrepit robes to brush at the covered body within the Knight's arms, clear untrust, hatred and taunting revealed in their aggressive actions towards him, but Azri'el offered no response, he cared not for the malignancies of the malevolent at this point.

Soon after the pair of sycophants had reached their master they too like he assisted in the opening of the gigantic doors, and like their master before them they offered no reaction when their coarse palms began to burn and broil as the doors fought back in defiance. Soon, unable to fend off the withering assault of the Demons that besieged them the gigantic doors conceded and with shuddering jolts stuttered open with gradual motions as the two neophytes of doom heaved their respective door left and right to open unto the chamber fully, while Deag Grav chose to stand within the now open frame of the chamber's doors and look into the vast space that presented itself to him.

The Divinity Chamber; cylindrical in nature and as wide as the Keep's courtyard, holding many the same characteristics in it's grandeur to the hallway beyond it's doors but with a few differences, much like the corridors leading to the chamber it's circular walls; as tall and bewildering in their gargantuan heights, were adorned with tall pillars holding the same marvellous artistry, windows sat embedded between them though their glass bore not the stained colours and stories of it's kin beyond the marble doors, in turn allowing pure steams of resplendent light to appraise the silver crystal encrusted black marble floor and the multitude of golden vine-like artistry upon the pillar's plinths and the domed ceiling above bore.

But that is were all affinities ceased, unlike the cavernous hallways that were set in a cacophony of tranquil silence when no one roamed it's floors, the chamber held a constant soulful melody of trickling streams, it's source standing at it's centre, within the very heart of the chamber sat a statuesque fountain of white ornate marble, accompanied by a orbicular wide pool filled with aqua liquid that breathed motion and a feeling of life into the otherwise vacant chamber. The fountain; more of a statue of Heaven's splendour than an austere fountain, for it depicted a woman in robes, an Angel, shown by the wings of stone that sprouted from her back. Solemnly sullen and beneficent, the Angel of white stone held it's arms away from it's body in a pose that suggested she awaited for something to be placed within them, something in which she could cradle and hold close. In a action that breathed an atmosphere of melancholy her eyes were closed with a saddened visage making up her features as great streams of tears flowed down her face akin to the tributaries of a mountain's face to then; in a show of effervescence, meet the pool at her robe covered feet.

In stark contrast to the Angelic form of the fountain's maiden, four hideously grotesque and almost demonic forms lay, mesmerising in their stature, akin to a compass they sat at nautical points around the fountain's wide pool, slumbering to the lullaby the trickling water of aqua tears sang, so unnerving and repugnant was their appearance that were it not for the abundance of Light Energy that radiated from their being most would consider them to be Demon-kin, but still their bodies were practical oceans of power, power born from God himself, power that together could challenge the sealed beast of the Apocalypse to an extent; Trihexa, and power that whether malevolent or benevolent did not matter, for it earned them the fear and reverence of Agent D'Nur.

The Elemental Wraiths.

Their arrival to the great alabaster walls of the city of Argent centuries ago was met with panic and terror from the distressed populace that would have soon grew to pandemonic heights were it not for the retinue of white robed and wing clad beings that seemingly acted as retainers to the deified beasts, along with a custodian guard of ornately crafted silver and gold armoured warriors; Angels of Heaven.

The beings' forms heaved with deep breaths akin to a muffled war horn as they slumbered, unmoving in their rest other than the occasional twitch of one of their long limbs; one of ten, like hybrids their bodies were an amalgamation of a lithe wingless bat and spider's limbs while a menacing and predatory skull with curved horns adorning it's sides took position of their head, though no fur covered their forms, only skin, a dusty beige in colour with a rough appearance that gave hints to a coarse nature, though most was hidden under the long cloth of pure white robes that they adorned themselves in.

Their limbs, triple jointed at what would be the equivalent to the ankle, knee and hip of a Human, three pairs of their pointed arachnid like limbs held position upon their upper torso, though currently they lay folded around their being, hidden as they slumbered in their coiled posture, the remaining two pair resided upon their lower forms much like the legs of a Human and the many other of the multitude of races that roamed the realms, but upon closer inspection the lower legs however seemed to differ in appearance to those upon the beast's torso, denser and voluminous as strong muscle became clear to see under their sickly skin, all four connected together by webs of thick membrane between limbs that reached to their 'knees' and all bearing a fluidness that seemed too oceanic for a land-born beast to utilise, it gave thought to those that gazed upon them, thought that suggested that these beings did not stride upon the lands akin to spiders upon ten legs, no to say their appendages were legs was totally inaccurate, for much like a Human they stood upright, intimidating and ghastly in their beastial height, the purpose of the three pairs of limbs on their torso now shown not to be legs in which they could lumber, but arms in which they could strikeout and snatch at those that earn their displeasure. Much like the Demon's born of the Summoner and Cacodemon strains, these beings did not walk or stride but glide, they glided upon energies they extruded in ethereal motions that only caused to unnerve the Humans around them, their bodies never touching ground, their height, their demonic appearance and the terrifying power they wielded caused fear to stir in the hearts of Man and Demon alike, but it was their benevolence, the gifts and protection offered, and their allegiance to Heaven that earned them the reverence of the people and the loyalty of the Order of Knights that were birthed at their arrival, the Order that stood guard as their protectors and custodians, those that drank from their power and dared to do battle against the scourged hordes of Hell and bring them to kneel.

The Order of the Night Sentinels;

But an Order to soon be forsaken.

With slow lumbering strides Deag Grav step foot into the chamber's dominion, his sadistic and maleficent gaze staring unyielding with an almost primal hunger at the beings it housed, choosing to stand equidistant between the weeping fountain that held the slumbering Wraiths around it and the defeated doors in which his brethren and the fallen paladin still stood, and with that he sealed Azri'el's treachery, forevermore his soul now lay blacken by betrayal.

The tears that flowed down the sullen statuesque Angel's hauntingly beautiful face suddenly stopped as it seemingly acknowledged the Demon's presences within the chamber of the Heaven blessed, in consequence of this it threw the chamber into a state of deafening and judging silence that made one feel at ill eased, and while the tears fell down her cheeks no-more, the presence of glistening trails remained in their wake, and this with the haunting look of almost pitying sadness of her beautiful features, as she seemingly looked past the Demon's red form and scouring gaze to look upon that of the fallen Sentinel and his kin he cradled ever closely to himself caused Azri'el's heart to clench in guilt and shame, not allowing himself to meet those hurting eye's he turned his head away, his gaze landing upon the one thing that kept him standing strong and pushing onward, the reason that justified his betrayal in his eyes.

Moving his left hand that currently cradled the head of the being that lay within his arms, Azri'el tugged upon the part of the white sheet that covered the beings face, this in turn revealing his features to the soothing light of the chamber around him.

Young, ever so young, no older than eighteen with skin as pale as the midnight's moon while golden hair that could rival the sun in it's radiance sat unkempt and ear length upon his head, his features were soft, kind and handsome but still possessed the aura of a warrior, but he did not move, no dancing of eyes under closed lids that indicated the adventure of one's dreamscape made itself known, nor the parting of lips allowing peaceful breaths to slip free as one enjoyed tranquil rest, cold, he was so cold.

Life had left him.

Azri'el held him closer as he gazed upon his face, shaking threatened to over come his hold as he looked upon the boy with such familiarity but he steeled himself before it could envelop him, the creasing of white sheet gave presence to the tightening of his grip on the lifeless boy, and the way in which he held him with such care and gentle movements suggested a fear, fear that with a single ill move the boy in his arms would shatter like a precious crystal, and cruel fate had befell enough harm upon him already, when his blood touched earth, soaking it in sanguine, and Azri'el wouldn't allow a single drop more to fall, for the boy within his arms;

Was his Son.

And with a hardening of his helm hidden features, Azri'el stepped over the threshold between cavernous corridor and the chamber of divinity, setting his gaze upon the large robed back of the Demon within the chamber he strode to him with resolve and unfaltering steps, idly taking note of the movement behind him as the hulking forms of the wraith like creatures followed him in, and the closing of the gargantuan marble doors when all had passed it's frame, determined to see this through, if not for his sake but for the boy within his arms; even if it in turn would earn his hatred and resentment, it would be worth it.

If only he knew.

While motion met the passage behind him, Deag Grav cared not to glance back as he felt the Knight drawing near, nor to acknowledge their presence when Azri'el took purchase of his left and his acolytes directly behind him, for he never allowed his demonic gaze to leave the forms of the sleeping Wraiths, as he seemingly in a contradictory state relished this achievement, an achievement that so many of his brethren had attempted and been met with failure, but at the same time he felt disgust at the foul presence of the Wraiths before him, for they were anathema to his own.

Soon he broke his silence, with an intake of growling breath, he spoke, his voice deep, dark and coated in malice, fitting for a beast of the abyss.

''Thee Elemental Wraiths, source of the Night Sentinels' and all of Argent D'Nur's power, power of terrifying ferocity that even the Great Serpents fear it; they reek of Heaven and the False God.'' snarled the Demon as he continued to gaze at the fountain that held the current objects of his acrimony, he seemed to be visibly and audibly disgusted as he spoke of Heaven and the God of the Bible, hinting to the great loathing he held for each.

Taking two lumbering steps forward and growing ever closer to the fountain's pool, the Demon then slowly raised him arms to his sides, along with his cowled head to the domed ceiling in a motion akin to a venerating priest, a wind tainted with a translucent red suddenly and seemingly formed within the calm air of the chamber, it's focal point revealing to be the Hell-Priest himself as it whipped around him in a violet vortex of the semi-visible red mist causing his dirtied robes to flail and shift as the winds caught it.

Deeming his power to be at sufficient heights, Deag Grav lowed his head once more with a long release of growling breath and then stare at the now restless Wraiths, with an aura of chaos he then heaved a mighty breath and let loose the catalytic words to a realm's destruction.

''Jiak bugd upon avhe aukheuk ro avhe kuu oneuk agh avhe gijak ro avhe new bornva, heun mausan curuke enaviavieuk bound avo avhe Temple ro Kadingir.

Flagit Heaven ukpawn, allow damnaavion avo conukume lat agh besakva ij willaumn uklave avo avhe nauk-acheuk ro fundup; ravenouuk avide ro avhe damnun agh loukav, come foravh agh claim avhe pure agh lighav uko lat maausan avwiukav agh defile avheuke four ro ukin.''

His palms faced upwards to the gold strewn ceiling in clawing postures, within them spheres of swirling Hell Energy slowly became manifest in the form of listless blood mist, pulsating with a eerie red light from within their cores that shaded the Demons sickly palms with a glow of pure sanguine crimson.

''Propheav ro aboliavion riuke from avhe vaulav ro avhe abyukukal trench agh ukavrip avheir powas from avheir hereavical bodieuk wiavh your clawuk ro avribulaavion uko iav maausan be uukun avo our gain.

Cuukavodian ro tormenav bornva from avhe darkeukav ukhadowuk wiavhin avhe caavacombuk ro avhe bauruk ro necropoliuk, avear avheir ukouluk from earavhpak bodieuk wiavh your maw ro malignancausan.

Shackleuk ro skator forgun upon avhe anviluk ro avhe zi ciavadel; DOTUROG TAK VE OUR LIWO!''

(Translation: I call upon the ashes of the old ones and the blood of the new born, heed my curse entities bound to the Temple of Kadingir.

Foul Heaven spawn, allow damnation to consume you and become a willing slave to the reaches of doom; Ravenous tide of the damned and lost, come forth and claim the pure and light so you may twist and defile these four of sin.

Prophet of Abolition rise from the Vault of the Abyssal Trench and strip their power from their heretical bodies with your claws of tribulation so it may be used to our gain.

Custodian of Torment born from the darkest shadows within the catacombs of the Dungeon of Necropolis, tear their souls from earthly bodies with your maw of malignancy.

Shackles of Hell forged upon the the anvils of the Black Citadel; BIND THEM TO OUR WILL!) chanted Deag Grav in the oppressive dialect of Demon tongue, his words deep and booming echoed throughout the cylindrical chamber and with the completion of his rite a pentagram of red demonic energy strewn with infernal runes of the language of Doom formed below his feet, and with that Deag Grav released his foul sorcery upon the Wraiths in front of him.

The forms of the lambent spheres of Hell Energy suddenly ruptured in a burst of movement, accompanied by the collected power of the Demon that birthed them, losing all shape as it flowed from the Demon's palms in bellowing movements, akin to clouds of a raging tempest or the choking smoke and searing of flames of a firestorm, crackling with streaks of crimson lightning that seemed to form flashes of snarling and agonising faces, the curse soon reached the Wraiths' resting place, and like a thick fog consumed them and concealed them from the visible eye.

The response was instantaneous, a response that caused Azri'el to feel sickened with shame and disgust.

Bloodcurdling screams and shrieks erupted throughout the chamber as the Wraiths suddenly awoke from their slumber, agony, torment and panic filled their cry's as the curse took hold of their beings, and if their screams were not sufficient enough to hint to their suffering then the flailing of their long limbs that tore through the fog in erratic motions surely was. One Wraith in a show of perpetual agony, torment and strength, rose from the miasma of energy and blood, it's lithe body and sharp limbs convulsing in pain as it screamed in response to the cursed burning itself into it's being, skin and flesh seemed to liquify as it was torn from body and bone, great streams of crimson ran down it's screaming face from empty sockets as it's eyes had been taken from it. It's strength soon left it as life started to fade from it's body shown by it's stiffened movements as it crumbled down to once more be claimed by the choking miasma as the rest of it's kin ceased their movements and grew silent.

Silence soon enveloped the chamber once more as the curse's fog began to thin and disperse akin to death's creeping hand.

Twisted limbs, open flesh and visages locked in agony made manifest soon became visible as the last wisps of pernicious fog finally cleared, the Wraiths lay lifeless, their bodies stiff, unmoving and drenched in blood seeping from torn skin as the curse born from the malignancies of the Temple of Kadingir set upon them the necrosis and rigamortis of death, their bodies transmogrified into something akin to bleeding statues; a suitable cage for the now cursed souls that still writhed in torment deep within and their terrifying power that awaited a new purpose.

With the curse now complete the Demon that was it's master allowed his arms to rest once more as he dropped his stance and gazed upon his work with sadistic glee.

''At long last, after centuries of scouring and bloodshed, the wretched Wraiths are finally within our grasp, at our mercy; with their demise shall we bring about the creation of The Well and with it's birth shall we end Argent D'Nur and the accursed Knights, their power shall become a trophy at our device, to be used at our devise; along with this putrid city and every man, woman and child within, all shall become slaves of doom, and with that we shall deal Heaven a deathly blow.'' continued the Demon in his soliloquy, uncaring of the ever thinning patience of the Knight behind him.

With the turning of his cowled head he then gazed at Azri'el with a single malice and mirth filled eye of sadistic green.

''All courtesy of you; Betrayer.'' finished the Demon in a tauntingly amused tone.

No response came from the Knight at his words, not even the sound of scratching and creaking armour plating as muscle clenched and taut underneath for the feel of his blade, only stoic silence as he stared challengingly into the green glow within the shroud of darkness that was the Demon's hood.

The silence was a fleeting one as Azri'el soon dained to speak, determination and repressed hatred etched into his voice.

''Enough Hell-spawn! I grow tired of your egotistical tongue, I have upheld the terms of our bargain Demon, now it is time you upheld yours, give to me what was promised, resurrect my son, bring him back to me.'' came the stern, almost baritone voice of Azri'el ignoring the Demon's words as he stepped forward clutching his son with something akin to desperation, a desperation only a parent could feel, but still he kept his intimidating stature, a warning of what to come if his terms weren't met.

Deag Grav turned his gaze back to the Wraiths in response to his words, but soon spoke in a tone akin to a growl.

''I know the terms Human, for It was I who set them; and worry not for they shall be fulfilled.'' responded the Hell-Priest in a harsh tone that suggested both irritation and offence, he then chose to raise his clawed right hand above him and clench it into a fist, and in consequence of that action his brethren seemed to give him their undivided attention.

''Ul avime hauk conm, prenouk avhe riavual wiavh an offeraumn ro gijak!'' ordered Deag Grav in the snarl of Demon tongue, his tone reminiscent of a preacher evangelising to an revering crowd, the words he spoke, most of which was lost on Azri'el, but the words ''Prenouk, riavual, offeranumn and gijak'' rung true within his mind, for the countless battles against demon-ilk he had been subject to allowed him to piece together their meaning and give hint as to what was about to be set into motion with their uttering.

Prepare.

Ritual.

Offering.

Blood.

No sooner had the final word passed Deag Grav's lips did it's consequence become clear, the sudden sound of harsh and struggling clothed movements accompanied by panicked shrieks befitting a banshee caused Azri'el to turn his gaze away from the Demon at his front to those behind.

The flailing of red robe covered limbs and booming shrieks of a kneeling Hell-priest met his gaze as three of it's brethren seemingly turned on their kin with a savagery befitting their kind. The Demon, seemingly the weakest of the cabal thrashed and screamed in a violent and panicked defiance against it's assailants, it's cowled head arched back as it screeched to the high domed ceiling above letting it's distress be known to all within, perhaps clinging to foolish hope that one of it's brethren would show loyalty and intervene, but it was all for nought as none came to it's aid, rather the opposite as they uncaringly lumbered past him and those that befell him to other parts of the chamber to prepare for the coming ritual. It's arms were seized and restrained by a pair of neverborn upon it's sides, while the final drew to it's unguarded back, grasping it's shoulders with it's clawed hands and forcing it's kin with unrestrained savagery to it's knees, merciless and sadistic their clawed hands held their screaming brethren with a strength and brutality so vicious that they tore at the dirty red cloth of it's foul robe, rendering flesh apart in fissures of jagged and seeping red, drawing blood that stained the red cloth a darker shade of sanguine and the breaking of bone with primal strength that caused the soon to be immolated abyssal to thrash and screech out with greater fury at the sudden act of baseless treachery it was subject to.

At the sound of his screaming kin Deag Grav turned his gargantuan body and lumbered toward the shrieking Demon behind Azri'el, a clear sadistic intent visible in his actions but his posture held an aura akin to a priest about to deliver a sermon. Seeing his 'master's' movements the Demon snarled and increased it's thrashing in a show of vehement defiance and unrestrained fury as it tried with all it's might to escape the clutches of it's three custodes.

As Deag Grav made his way to the befell Demon he gave pause as he stepped by the fallen Knight to his right, turning his eerie gaze to the betrayer; an action that Azri'el took note of and in kind offered his own glare to the Hell-priest. For what seemed like hours but in reality was but only a few seconds, the Man and Demon locked gazes with one another, taunting, judging and daring.

With his glare met with a stalemate, the Demon turned his gaze away once again and soon daned to speak.

''The weeping slave of Heaven awaits you betrayer, place your spawn within it's arms, we shall employ the Wraiths own shackled power to bring about his rebirth from the oblivion of limbo he wanders.'' growled the Demon uncaringly as he once more lumbered past Azri'el to then stand in front of the still thrashing and screaming Demon.

Azri'el kept his glare upon the Demon's retreating form for a second longer out of clear untrust and hatred, but soon he turned and made his way to the fountain that held the weeping angel, taking care and heed with each step to not tread or look upon the fallen forms of the heavenly Wraiths, perhaps out of shame or that he simply wished not to insult them any further, not that he could offer a greater insult to them with what had just transpired. Stepping over the small ornate white walls of the pool's edge and into it's calm waters Azri'el waded his way to the statue that sat at it's centre, his movements allowing the peaceful music of flowing water to once more breathe into the chamber as his alabaster armoured legs cut a swathe through the aqueous blue, a sound of stark contrast to the cacophony of noise of the still screaming Demon behind.

Once in front of the sullen Angel with but two steps between them Azri'el gave one last look to the face of the lifeless boy within his arms, his helm concealed whatever melancholy features that took a hold of him, he was hopeless to stop it as he gazed at the cold features of his eternally sleeping son. Lowing his head slowly and delicately, in an action that betrayed his occupation as a hardened warrior, he allowed his helm to touch foreheads with the boy, an action filled with hope, sadness, love and trepidation.

''Forgive me Elah.'' came his whispering words to his son, though he knew they would fall upon dead ears his words were still so quiet that not even he heard them fully, akin to whispers upon the wind, but still they held a great weight.

Raising his head shortly after, he then grasped at the white sheet that covered his son's body akin to a veil with his right hand and then pulled it from it's resting place upon his son's form, it's movement aqueous in nature as silken white flowed over the edges and rises of the body beneath, to then fall gracefully like the rolling of waves and drape itself over the smooth stone of the pool's small walls and upon the water's glistening surface as Azri'el's grip left it.

With the shroud gone his appearance was revealed, and much like his farther that held him Elah garbed himself proudly with the alabaster Crusadic armour of the Night Sentinels; though his armour bore many differences to that of his farther's own, the obvious lack of his helm and the hierarchical adornments and decorations gave evidence to his place within the Order as a Neophyte or at the very most a Knight Initiate, many steps below his farther's own, for none but Angel and Heaven born held greater authority and respect. Even with his low position and humble appearance within the Order he was held in high respect and acclaim, but also held with great expectations, the cause of such none other due to the blood that ran through his veins, a prestigious blood that earned the respect of even those of the higher echelons of the Order such as the Castellans of D'Nur, his farther's personal Paladins.

Blood that now lay stained upon his armour.

Mars of dark crimson seeped from great tears upon his armour, brutal and jagged in nature, the fissures carved into the habitually unyielding metal of Heaven born adamantine gave hints to it's assailants, too barbarous were they to be born from the slicing edge of a forged blade, too jagged to be a product of the heavy and puncturing weight of an axe's cleaving head, nor did they hold the bristled and broiled deformations of melted metal born from the Hellfire of a Sorcerer's thaumaturgy, but from claws that tore and rended metal from metal, while maws pierced and caved both armour and bone.

After his moment of sullen study of the body that now lay revealed, with a single step upon the small white plinth that held the heavenesque statue Azri'el then raised his son's tarnished, bloody and begrimed body to the waiting arms of the Angel of white stone, not daring to look upon her distraught features as he let Elah's form lay limp within her embrace. Were it not for the fact that his own kin took part Azri'el would have thought the scene before him to be tragically beautiful, a befell Knight in the arms of an Angel, an aspiration to all of the Order, to die for their cause and be held at dying breath by a being such as her; but, it left an emptiness to stir within him at the sight of his lifeless son being cradled so, what pride and honour became overcast to the storms of grief that no father should feel, storms that weathered and eroded his rationality and morality, though a feeling of desperate hope shone through also.

With that and his part complete he stepped away from the Angel until his armoured feet met the black marble beyond the pool's walls and then turned to the disarraying Demon behind.

His eyes met a sight that would have left any other but he sicked and unnerved.

Deag Grav stared emotionlessly at his frantically thrashing kin, now in front of the kneeling neverborn with but only a breath's length between them, without hesitance or mercy he thrust a single of his clawed hands into the flesh beneath the red robes of his kin, uncaring of how his brethren convulsed and screamed in agony as his claws pierced flesh and began to enter deeper into the thrashing Demon's chest, he didn't falter or show empathy as the feeling of warm streaming liquid met his skin, the blood only seemed to encourage him, he offered only a appraising grunt to his work when his claws prised open the sternum that acted as the final guard between him and his prize; a prize that taunted him with the ''thump thump'' of rhythmical beats.

A prize that his menacing hand soon found.

While wrapping his claws around the screaming Demon's heart he placed his free hand upon it's shoulder for leverage and preparation of what was to come.

''A life for a life.'' growled Deag Grav, his cowled head but a breath's length from his kin's own, his words were met with an enraged scream as his brethren's head shot forward until directly in front of his own.

Deag Grav then brutally pulled with all his might at the beating organ within his kin, such an action was met with a renewed and vigorous scream though no thrashing accompanied it, only convulsing as pain wracked it's being. Soon the force that assaulted it prove too much to bear as the clawed hand ripped the still beat heart from the neverborn's open chest causing his brethren to arch his back with jolting motions and give one last gargling cry before it's body became enervated, as life left it to become nought more than a soulless husk. Upon seeing this the three that held it's body in vice relinquished their hold and allowed him to crash without dignity to the blood soaked floor, while Deag Grav stared uncaringly at the still beating heart he held within his palm.

With an uncaring flick of his free hand Deag Grav gave an unspoken order to the remainder of his cabal that watched him ever vigilant, an order they eagerly complied to shown by their vigorous movements to it's call, akin to carrion vultures they descended upon their fallen kin's bloodied form, in a mob of lumbering red robes they shoved and battle against each other whist they tried with all their might to steak a claim to their kin's fallen frame. Within moments they enclosed the befell Demon in a shroud of red robes and then began to descend upon the seeping body with an animalistic hunger as eleven pairs of malicious claws borrowed deep into it's being, tearing limbs from joints and organs from body causing blood to pool and spray in great arcs of crimson due to the ferocity of their assault, inconsequence causing both floor and the Demonic robes they wore to turn a deeper, foreboding shade. Such brutality born with but a single purpose; all an act to derive as much blood as possible and allow it to coat their hands in gauntlets of streaming crimson.

With hands of gore they stepped from their once kin, now little more than a mess of mangled limbs and flesh, red strands of torn robes and blood stained bones of baleful white, one no longer able to distinguish what they once formed such was the brutality that descended upon it, all to be revealed as they lumbered from it to the chamber's periphery, their intentions being the fulfilment of their task as eleven menacing forms arched earthwards and allowed their bloodied hands to touch the cold marble floor, then after minutes of movement in which they lumbered from the chamber's perimeter to it's centre, they left it stained with artistic scriptures and icons of blood red.

Scriptures of dark tongue wrote in a language born of Hell that spoke of a coming ritual; a twisted sacrament that no amount of penance or flagellation could birth ones repentance with it's creation, while icons that stung at the eyes of those not of Demon kin and forsake their soul to be beyond the forgiveness of God lay between; all residing within a colossal pentagram of wet blood, the final nail into the coffin of sin Azri'el had willingly lay himself in.

With their task now complete the Demons returned once more and spread out to the chamber's surrounding walls, all the while taking heed to remain within the bloody pentagrams circumference as they awaited their Master to begin the ritual.

During this with the still beating heart grasped within his clawed palm Deag Grav lumbered forward to meet the ever wary and distrusting Knight beyond the pool's walls, though this time he did not halt his movements to glare or offer taunting words as he passed and almost shoved by Azri'el, an action that earned a tracking glare and a stiffened posture from it's recipient as Azri'el held back the ravenous urge to lay a grip upon his sheaved blade, though he allowed his eyes behind his helm their own offence as they pierced the Demon's clothed back with scouring gazes as he watched him reach the small walls of the pool's edge.

With a single and sanctimonious step the Demon allowed his offending presence to desiccate the clear waters of the pool's own enclave of Heaven, uncaring of how the purifying water burned and stung at his hidden calves he waded through the Holy water that offered such petulant resistance, resistance that soon faded to nothingness as it became tainted with Hell's very aura as drops of dark blood fell and rippled across the clear liquid surface to then akin to the choking plumes of fire stricken lands consume and conceal all light and purity with it's dark and oppressing shade of deep sanguine.

Their source no other from the Demon's clawed hand as a heart still beat.

Soon he stood with but an arms reach of the lifeless Knight within the Angel's embrace, Deag Grav offered no gaze or thought to either, as only a cold purpose filled his actions as he raised the still beating heart within his palm to the scarred and bloody armour of the fallen Knight's torso, though he took note of the increasing glare and hostility at his rear as he grew closer to the fallen form.

Allowing his palm to hover above the Knights form, Deag Grav turned his head one final time to gaze at the anxious and aggressive stance of the Knight behind him.

''It would be wise if you stepped from the ritual betrayer, unless you wish to offer yourself as a vessel to a power even Lucifer himself fears.'' cautioned the Demon in a tone that suggested no real concern to Azri'el's well being, but one final taunt in hopes of earning a greater reaction from the habitually reticent Knight.

A reaction that never came as Azri'el remained steadfast in his intimidating stance and made no move to step from the blood strewn ritual's pentagram as he glared almost angrily back at the Demon in front.

With that Deag Grav placed the beating heart of his former disciple upon Elah's armoured chest and in consequence to his action the chamber seemed to slowly grow dim as God's light vanished, soon after his brethren around the chamber's walls raised their hands to their sides and allowed spheres of crimson and flame orange Hell energy to form in each to which they then channelled to the bloody scriptures and icons upon the black marble floor and soon the very pentagram itself, shown by the eerie crimson glow that birthed from the blood and bathed the chamber with a blood red lambent glow as the ritual began.

''THUMP THUMP, THUMP THUMP''

The sound of two hearts beating in unison echoed throughout the chamber, a sound that made Azri'el's own heart clench as he looked to the restful face of his son, hope replacing any shame and despair that lingered within him.

But also.

A sound that caused a sadistic snarl to form within the darkness of Deag Grav's cowled head as demonic green eyes shone with a cruel excitement as a scheme was soon to come to fruition.

''It begins.''  
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End of Chapter

Please Follow, Favourite and Review if you enjoyed this chapter, I love hearing from you guys and I welcome constructive criticism.

Also this chapter has actually been cut in half and wasn't meant to end here but since I didn't want to post a chapter with 20,000 words (Blame the fight scene in the next chapter for that) as it would be rather too much in my opinion, so this is ''The Beginning: Hatred's Birth and a Seraph's Sorrow: Unus''

Next will be part Duo: Azri'el forsakes his name, Doomslayer is born and a Seraph bares witness to his fall.

Sorry I took so long I've been on a Star Wars marathon and kinda got caught up with it haha.


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